Mortaria had united the villages against the oppressive rulership of her adoptive father. She personally visited each village personally. She visited to one of these villages and walked through the town and held a speech to rally the people against the warlords who prey on them. The mists churned unnaturally that day—thicker, darker, as if the very air recoiled in anticipation.

From the shrouded treeline, a tall, gaunt figure emerged. Pale as death, cloaked in black and bone, she moved with eerie grace, flanked by towering warriors clad in soot-streaked armor that hissed softly with every breath from their toxin-purging filters.

Villagers froze mid-task. Scythes were dropped. Children hidden. Even the bravest among them held back, hands tightening around rusted tools or old las-carbines—useless symbols of defiance in the face of whatever this was.

The figure stepped forward. Her voice, when it came, cut through the fog like a blade:

“I am Morrigan, daughter of death and defier of tyrants.”

She raised her hand, and the Death Guard halted behind her, motionless as tombstones.

“I once stood where you stand now. Beneath the boots of monsters, in the shadow of warlords who think pain is law and fear is worship. I was raised by the greatest of them—and I turned on him.”

A beat. No one dared speak.

“I offer you more than words,” she continued, her gaze sweeping across the gathered crowd. “I offer steel. I offer training. I offer armor to walk through the poison... and the strength to silence the monsters above. I offer LIBERATION!”

She pointed up, toward the distant, jagged peaks where Necare’s fortress loomed faintly beyond the swirling clouds.

“Join me, and we will drag them from their heights. Not as prey—but as Death’s retribution. Those who wish to join me, does so of their own will. Those willing step forward and join me in the fight for justice.”